


The Cat

by Pfefferminze



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Other, flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pfefferminze/pseuds/Pfefferminze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the heat of a Californian summer afternoon, every noise reminds him of that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat

He is lying on the sofa, trying to escape the great heat of Californian summers by standing as still as possible. The hum of the fridge is the loudest noise in the house. He tries to focus on the water dripping in the sink. 

Splash.

Silence.

Splash.

Silence.

It ‘s a rhythmic and quite calming sound, but even that cannot stop his thoughts from running wild and replay the events of that Sunday.  
He remembers really well the way her earrings jangled. He hated them. His mother had given them to her and pretended they were his anniversary gift. The anniversary he had forgotten. A fight of epic dimension had followed that dinner and anytime he saw them, they brought back vicious memories of that evening. She had always said she loved them: she adored the shape, the color but especially how they swished with her black hair every time she shaked her head disapprovingly. In her opinion they underlined the points she tried to make. The points he often failed to see. 

In fact, it was only appropriate that she had worn them also that Sunday. 

He has to stop. He needs something else to distract him.  
He turns on the TV and the roaring lion of that production company welcomes him to the glossy world of cinema. Flames crackle lazily in someone’s house’s fireplace. What looks like the most probable male lead sits in front of it, brooding quietly, and suddenly a door opens squeaking creepily. A supposedly scary screech follows.   
He’s in no mood for cheap horror movies. And, funnily enough, the sight of a door opening reminds him of another door closing. With a loud bang. And the patter of her high heeled footsteps becoming softer and softer. 

The small cactus falls in a muffled plop. He has done a good job repairing the vase and wrapping it in cotton bandages. The crack it used to make when falling had become unbearable after some time.

The guilty cats approaches him, half purring and half whining. It is clearly hungry, otherwise it would be hissing if he even tried to come closer than a few feet.   
She left him with this: a disturbed cat, a sink that wouldn’t stop dripping water and mysterious neighbors whose existence is demonstrated only occasionally by some kind of rattling. Isn’t it ironic? 

He gets up. The cat is demanding. The bowl full of food lands with a thud and it’s empty in a second. He stares at the cat whistling on the whim of the moment. She’ll be happy of how he is keeping things in order, when she comes back.


End file.
